


There's Only Two Songs in me and I Just Wrote the Third

by revolutionaryfury



Series: Those Three [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Multi, Musichetta is really the only eighth grader in a poly relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionaryfury/pseuds/revolutionaryfury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Musichetta goes to the mall with her best friends, Joly trips and they all go down, and Javert is disapproving of teenagers. </p><p>(TW for panic attacks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Only Two Songs in me and I Just Wrote the Third

_“I reserve the right to love many different people at once, and to change my prince often.”_

_-[Anaïs Nin](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7190.Ana_s_Nin)_

"Marie, my teacher told me to write an essay about people who are important to me," Musichetta said to her foster mother. The eighth grade was proving to be more of a challenge than the thirteen-year-old had expected, and there were many personal essays; the teacher was rather fond of them as a writing exercise. Musichetta had always been a good writer, but never when it came to writing about herself. She was good with fiction, and could dash up a decent technical essay, but she was never quite in tune with personal writing. Still, she enjoyed the exercises.

"Is that so?" Marie said, just a bit distracted. She was sewing a new set of buttons on an old shirt, and it seemed to require most of her attention. One thing Musichetta liked about Marie: she was always sewing and designing awesome outfits.

"Yeah. I can't exactly write about my parents, 'cause they're not important to me," Musichetta explained. Marie looked up, something like consternation flitting across her features before she just nodded and threaded another needle. "I tried to write it about you on the bus, but the words just wouldn't come. Who do I write it about?"

Marie considered, flattered that Musichetta considered her an important person in her life. "How about those two boys who seem to live in my kitchen half the time?" she suggested.

Musichetta brightened. "Of course! Joly and Bossuet should be easy to write about! Thanks, Marie!" She kissed her foster mother on the cheek and scurried into her room to get started.

XXX

_Other than my foster mother, Marie, the most important people in my life are my two best friends. They both go to Abaissés High School, in grades nine and ten. Their names are Lucien Joly and L'aigle de Meaux, but they go by Joly (Jolllly) and Bossuet (Baldy Boy.) I'm not quite sure why we call Joly by his last name or why we nicknamed Bossuet after some philosopher, but the nicknames just stick. They call me 'Chetta, so I guess you could say that none of us go by our real names._

_Joly is a walking contradiction – he's a hypochondriac who wants to become a doctor. Sometimes his hypochondria is funny and endearing, but sometimes he has full-blown panic attacks because he thinks he's going to die. He can't breathe right and he starts rocking back and forth, so Bossuet just hugs him. It's really the only thing he can do. It's happened a few times now, and the last time, Bossuet had Joly in his arms and beckoned me over and I hugged both of them. I was scared, but honored that Bossuet thought I could help Joly._

_Anyway, other than that, Jolllly is a perfect person. He's funny and sweet and the happiest person I've ever met. Sometimes, just to tick him off, we call him Jolly. He's one of the smartest people I know, and knows everything to do with medicine. It makes sense, though, because his dad's a doctor and his mom's a nurse._

_I love Joly. He's one of my favorite people in the world._

_Then there's Bossuet. He's the unluckiest boy I know, always tripping and falling. Just yesterday the three of us were in the mall when he crashed into a pole and broke his nose. I'm not exactly sure what a pole was doing in the middle of the mall, but that's just one example. He's always losing his money or his bus pass, or getting splashed with dirty water by cars, or missing the bus. Despite all this, he's always in a good mood. Bossuet is cheerful, kind, and hilarious._

_He takes care of Joly and I; sometimes we call him Dad. He's sixteen years old, and I know that most sixteen-year-olds wouldn't put up with an eighth grader, but he treats me as if I'm his age._

_I love Bossuet. He's also one of my favorite people in the world._

_Even though he's bald._

Musichetta laughed at that last line, knowing that it wasn't a proper way to end an essay. But what more could she say? She knew that Joly and Bossuet wanted to keep their relationship secret – at least for now – so she couldn't include that. And besides, what else was there to say? She'd done the best she could. She shoved the essay in her backpack just as she heard a knock at the door.

"Musichetta!" Marie called.

"Coming!" Musichetta called back. She zipped up her backpack and walked into the living room, where Joly and Bossuet stood, chatting happily with Marie. "Hi, guys!" she said.

"'Chetta, your boyfriends here want to take you to the mall to retry yesterday," Marie teased.

Musichetta flushed, muttering, "They're not my boyfriends." She looked up at Bossuet, whose nose was still a little swollen and bandaged somewhat sloppily. "Is your nose okay?"

He gave a noncommittal shrug. "Eh, been better," he said with a wink.

"Can we go, Marie?" Musichetta asked.

At Marie's consent, the three teens tore out of the house and raced to the bus stop. On the way there, Bossuet tripped over air and landed hard on his side, grabbing Joly for balance and taking the boy down with him. Joly kicked his leg out wildly and caught Musichetta's ankle with his foot, and before the three knew it, Musichetta was flat on her butt, dazed and in pain, Bossuet was curled around himself and clutching his side, cursing under his breath and Joly was on his stomach, groaning.

"Bossuet – why?" Joly moaned. "Why do you have to trip over air?" He suddenly sat up, his pale cheeks flushing. "Are you okay? Did you break the skin? I think I have bandages and disinfectant somewhere in here…" He rifled around in his coat for a moment.

"I'm fine," Bossuet wheezed. He got up and kissed Joly on the cheek, wincing and placing a hand on his ribs. Joly opened his mouth and Bossuet put a finger over it. "No, I'm not bleeding internally, and my ribs aren't bruised or broken or cracked. I'm fine." He scooped Musichetta up bridal style and got her back on her feet. The three continued on, limping a bit, but eventually made it to the bus stop and to the mall.

Things went well – Bossuet managed to walk around the pole this time, Musichetta spent most of the trip riding on Joly's back because her butt hurt, and Joly didn't give himself an aneurysm about the mall food. They purchased ridiculous trinkets from a Hello Kitty-themed store, and almost played laser tag, but decided they were all too sore. Everything was fine…until Joly had another panic attack.

Later, Musichetta couldn't be sure what caused it.

But suddenly, by the bookstore, Joly had begun hyperventilating and shaking, murmuring something about salmonella. He fisted his hands in his hair and gritted his teeth, trying to swallow but clearly having trouble. Bossuet put an arm around Joly's shoulders and guided him to a little out of the way seating area, beckoning for Musichetta to follow. Seating Joly and himself in a chair, he took Joly in his lap, whispering reassuring things into his boyfriend's ear. He jerked a hand toward Musichetta, patting his knee.

Musichetta, confused, plopped into Bossuet's lap. Bossuet eased Joly toward Musichetta, and the copper-skinned girl, put an arm around him. She began to whisper reassurances to Joly as well, mostly nonsense, and she was sure that combined with Bossuet's words of comfort, all Joly could hear was a garble. Eventually, his shakes stopped and his breathing returned to normal. His head lolled, and he cuddled into Bossuet's shoulder, the sixteen-year-old resting his chin on his boyfriend's fawn hair. Joly wrapped his arms around Musichetta, much to her shock.

Bossuet wrapped his other arm around her, and wondered if there was no escape from the tangle of limbs. It was a bit odd, considering Joly was clinging to her like a monkey, and Bossuet wasn't objecting to this at all. In fact, he almost seemed to be encouraging it. But somehow…it felt good. Hesitantly, Musichetta rested her head on Bossuet's other shoulder, closing her eyes.

XXX

Musichetta awoke to her phone vibrating in her pocket and the lights of the mall going down. A security guard stood above the three sleepy teens, glaring down at them. She quickly realized that it had been hours, and that the phone call was most likely from a panicking Marie. In fact, she was right. After apologizing profusely and exchanging an awkward conversation with the pissy security guard (who had rather impressive sideburns), the three tore out of the mall. Joly was laughing, and took Musichetta's hand on one side and Bossuet's on the other.

"Hey, 'Chetta?" he said when they were sprawled across the bench at the bus stop.

"Yeah?" Musichetta asked.

"So, Bossuet and I've been talking," he said, and began to blush a bit. "And…uh….we're really glad that we're friends with you."

"Um…thanks. I mean, you two are my best friends, too," she said, a little confused.

"And…we both really like you."

"Thanks?"

"I….er…we…um…were…were…wondering if… you might want to…er…goddammitIcan'tdothis," Joly stuttered out.

"What?" Musichetta blinked slowly. She was confused.

"We were wondering if you wanna go out with us," Bossuet finished for his boyfriend, idly scratching his bandaged nose. "I get that it's weird, but a few weeks ago we realized that be both kinda have crushes on you, but still like each other. We'd like to give it a try if you're willing." He shrugged and smiled.

Musichetta was taken aback. A three-person relationship? she thought. If she still lived with her parents, she knew that they would have a heart attack if they knew her best friends were gay. But the fact that they wanted to be in a relationship with her would send dear old Mom and Dad into an early grave, probably after some violent convulsions too. A dim smile flickered at the edge of her mouth. She liked Joly and Bossuet plenty, and had wondered before what kissing one of them would be like. She hadn't had her first kiss yet, and that would be nice. She also had to admit that sitting in Bossuet's lap with Joly's arms around her had felt natural. A little odd at first, but comforting and sweet.

"Okay," she said. "I guess we could give it a try. No one would get jealous, right?"

"Nope," Joly said proudly. "Bossuet and I already discussed that. We like each other – and you – too much to be jealous."

Bossuet smiled. "Thanks for giving this a try, 'Chetta. I get that it's weird. And that I'm too old for you."

"You're sixteen, not fifty," Musichetta teased. She turned thoughtful. "Would…would one of you kiss me?" she asked suddenly, blushing. "I've never actually been kissed."

"Gladly," Bossuet answered. "Who gets the honors?"

Musichetta, blushing fiercely, shrugged.

"How about both of us?" Joly suggested. With that, he leaned and pressed a kiss to Musichetta's lips. It was gentle and quick and sweet. She looked a little dizzy when it ended. "Huh. That's the first time I've ever kissed a girl. So it's a first kiss for me too," he laughed.

"I can't be outdone!" Bossuet laughed, grabbing Musichetta and sweeping her off her feet, kissing her with a loud smack. She looked even dizzier after that was finished. He then proceeded to half-make out with Joly, while 'Chetta sat there looking confused and blushing.

The bus pulled up, and the three, holding hands, made their way up, with Joly paying for Bossuet's ticket because he'd lost his bus pass again. They ended up with Musichetta in Joly's lap with her head on Bossuet's shoulder, and Joly and Bossuet's hands entwined on his thigh.

I think this will work, Musichetta thought. She'd have a lot more to add to her essay tonight.


End file.
